


Never Could Buy This

by doctorenterprise



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Flashbacks, Fourth of July, M/M, Minor Violence, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 03:25:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4044049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorenterprise/pseuds/doctorenterprise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Money sure as hell buys comfort and security, but it never could buy this.</p><p>Or, Steve enjoys his first birthday with Bucky back at his side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Could Buy This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fireelsa](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=fireelsa).



_July 4 th, 2016 – Avengers Tower_

It’s been over seventy years since Steve last enjoyed a good drink and the company of an old friend.

The night is heavy and too warm, as dark as it ever gets across the New York skyline. His clothes cling to his skin from the dampness. The empty rooftop houses only two glasses of expensive whiskey and two men who haven’t had a single truly pleasant day since before they had two cents to rub together. 

Steve thinks to himself – money sure as hell buys comfort and security, but it never could buy this.

The streets fifty floors below their feet are filled with honking horns, laughing people, and the occasional squeal of impatient tires on hot asphalt. It’s those now-familiar sounds that wrap around him with a feeling like _home_. The fact that he’s sharing it with someone so eternally intrinsic to his life and happiness makes that feeling stronger still.

Things are good, he decides, resting his palms flat on the ledge surrounding the perimeter of the rooftop. He’s had three weeks of downtime, spent it in the company of someone he thought he’d never see again, and discovered thing about himself he never knew existed. He knows himself and the people he loves so much better for it.

Things are good.

They haven’t always been. They likely won’t be sometime in the future. He, more than anyone, knows the transient nature of happiness. He’s walked that path his whole life.

But for now? For now, he’s got a glass of whiskey, the company of his best friend, and the heat of an early July night in New York City atop the most expensive tower in the five boroughs. For now, he’s happy.

A hand rests to the right of his on the ledge, five long, intricate fingers forged of titanium and scuffed from too long without a touchup. He watches those fingers toy gently with the fine crystal glass that houses his friend’s drink and smiles. That hand has crushed the lives out of so many people, but it twirls a glass between its fingers like it’s second nature. It’s been a long time since that hand or that arm or that body has brought harm to anything.

“Warm night.”

Steve smirks and looks up into the eyes of his best friend and brother, partner in crime and great love of his life. Familiar blue eyes smile back at him, right brow raised as if awaiting a snarky comment about the seventh circle of hell being cooler than tonight. 

“I suppose,” he replies, studiously refusing to give Bucky the satisfaction of getting what he wants. Bucky pouts and looks back out over the rumbling city. “Should be starting soon.”

“Any minute now,” Bucky agrees. “Happy birthday, punk.”

Bucky’s metal shoulder nudges Steve’s right and knocks him slightly sideways. It only takes a quick glance at his friend’s face to confirm what he already knew – intentional, of course. 

“You know, it’s nice of ‘em to keep doing fireworks just for me every year.”

“Aw, shuddup, you know they ain’t for your dumb ass,” Bucky rolls his eyes and takes another sip of his drink. “Nobody ‘round here’s got time for your ugly mug on America’s birthday.”

“Nobody ‘cept you." 

“Ah, well, I’m a true gentleman, you know,” Bucky flashes him a grin. “Can’t be rumoured to have left my best girl hangin’ on her special night.”

“Jerk.”

Bucky raises his glass to that. Steve thinks about all the time he’s spent waiting for this moment and bites the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the lanes of red brake lights below.

All he knows is, it’s been a long time coming.

: : :

_July 5 th, 1937 – Barnes Residence_

“So, Rogers, how’s it feel to be seventeen? Four more years, you can vote and quit all that whinin’ about justice and the American way.”

“Shut up, Barnes,” Steve rolled his eyes and shoved ineffectually at his best friend’s shoulder. “You’d whine, too, if you took your head out from under a skirt now and then and listened to the state of things.”

“Aw, Stevie, if I did that, what would all those poor girls do?”

“Move on immediately, I’m sure. Don’t go getting too big in those tiny britches, pal.”

“Hey!” Bucky laughed, ruffling Steve’s hair. Steve glared and flattened it down the best he could without a mirror. Bucky smirked at him and fixed the last piece when Steve missed it completely. “I’m sorry I missed it, Steve. You know how my folks are about church and it’s just plain bad luck your birthday landed on a Sunday.” 

“That’s okay, Buck. Spent it with Ma. Had a roast chicken and potatoes,” he waved away the apology. “You’re probably more sore about that than missing my birthday, anyhow.” 

“Any leftovers?” Bucky asked hopefully. Steve laughed. 

“’Course there are, it’s just the two of us. There’s pie, too.”

Steve laughed as he watched Bucky’s face morph into one of a man who hadn’t eaten in days.

“Well, you know, Stevie, it’d be rude of me to miss your birthday altogether. You bein’ my best guy and all,” Bucky explained seriously. “I’d best come for dinner tonight to make it up to you.”

“I ain’t your guy,” Steve grumbled. “But you’re welcome at dinner. Ma invited you.”

“Certainly can’t be disappointing my best gal, either!”

“Aw, _Buck!_ ”

It took them ten minutes to make their way to the Rogers residence for dinner and when they got there, his mother greeted him as usual, with a pat on the cheek and a timeframe on dinner. Bucky was greeted in his usual manner, as well, with a full face-grab, a kiss between the eyes, and a declaration of joy.

“James, darling, it’s been too long! Look at that handsome face, my how you’ve grown into a _fine_ young gentleman! Let me take a look at you – oh, sweetheart, I’m glad you’re here in time for dinner. Best get some meat on those bones of yours! How have you been, dear?” Sarah exclaimed in a rush of affection, patting Bucky all over as if looking for spots with too much bone for her liking. Bucky preened. 

“I’ve been just swell, Mrs. Rogers,” he answered with so much syrupy politeness Steve’s eyes rolled all the way back and around again. “I must say, you’re looking particularly gorgeous tonight. You didn’t get all dolled up for little ole me, did you?” 

Steve’s mom blushed bright pink and smacked Bucky’s shoulder before hurrying back over to the stove with a giggle.

“Mr. Barnes, I did no such thing!”

Sarah Rogers’ absolute adoration for James Barnes was no secret between the three of them – or the entire rest of the neighbourhood she talked him up to, but that was a separate story. Steve swore she loved him more than her own son and Bucky’s self-satisfied grinning was no help at all.

They rushed through dinner – mostly because Bucky inhaled half a chicken and two helpings of leftover potatoes – and Steve and Bucky retired to his bedroom so Steve could draw while Sarah cleared the dishes and waved them away.

“Ma’s clearly still ignoring my weekly slandering of your character, I see,” Steve laughed as he opened a sketchbook. “I’ll never get it through her head. She still thinks you’re sweet as pie.”

“It’s ‘cause I buy her flowers, Stevie. Dames love that.”

“You watch your mouth, Barnes. That’s my mother.”

“Prettiest lady in both our lives, Stevie.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“Say,” Bucky began with false casualness. “Any other pretty ladies in your life now that you’re nearly a man?”

“You know there aren’t,” Steve grimaced. “Haven’t been yet, probably won’t be in the future.”

“Still never been kissed, then?” Steve glared and Bucky grinned innocently. “Okay, okay. I’m just sayin’, you haven’t exhausted your options yet, Stevie.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, plenty of people out there you haven’t asked yet. Well, all of ‘em, really,” Bucky chuckled. “Never gonna find a person who’ll kiss you if you don’t ask ‘em.”

“So I’m supposed to just go up to a lady and ask if I can kiss her, am I?”

“Well,” Bucky shrugged, looking down sheepishly. “I’d say you maybe need some practice first, though.”

“Practice?”

“Yeah, try asking me. We’ll work on your technique!”

Steve rolled his eyes and turned to his best friend. “So I’m supposed to just scoot up to you and say ‘Hey, doll, cash or check?’”

“Cash,” Bucky grinned and promptly swallowed Steve’s tongue. Two seconds of surprise, one to make a decision, and Steve kissed him right back.

Not a bad birthday gift, if you asked him.

: : :

_July 4 th, 2016 – Avengers Tower_

It’s still too damn hot to be out and about tonight – and Steve swears it never used to be this damp in the ‘30s – but he can’t stop looking at man standing beside him. It’s been hell living in this city without him. That’s half the reason he moved to DC, but he’s back now with his partner in all things at his side once again.

It’s good to be back.

It’s been four months since Steve sat down on a park bench in Central Park and had a good long cry about the man he’d found again but still hadn’t brought in from the cold after eight months of searching. It’s been four months since Bucky sat down beside him on that bench and placed a warm, familiar hand on his knee. It’s been four months of sleepless nights, therapists, and tears, but they’ve been the best four months of his life.

“Just want you to know something, Buck,” Steve says into the night, not looking sideways. “Just – you’re still my best guy.”

Bucky snorts. “Your _only_ guy.”

“I do alright,” Steve defends himself valiantly for a moment before remembering that he may do just fine, but that’s only because Bucky’s as good as they come. “I snagged you, didn’t I?”

Bucky’s single shout of laughter echoes off the building across the street and wanders back to them. “Sure you did, pal.”

Steve turns his hip to the ledge and watches Bucky for a few minutes instead of the city. It’s a much better view, anyhow.

Steve’s loved a lot of clothes both on Bucky and on the floor beside Bucky, but he’s sure he’s never loved anything quite like what he sees on his best friend these days. It’s like Bucky was born for olive slim legged chinos rolled up past his ankles and loose neutral t-shirts that don’t quite touch the waist of his pants. He always looks simultaneously comfortable, ready for a nap, and ready for a day of antiquing in the Village.

Steve loves it.

He loves that Bucky’s primary concern is comfort instead of safety. He loves that Bucky looks for good cellphone pockets instead of good weapons pockets. He loves that Bucky doesn’t wear shoes, even though it’s impractical in case of an emergency. He loves that Bucky doesn’t give a shit about emergencies these days and that the biggest one he might experience on a typical Wednesday is that Starbucks is out of the marshmallow flavoured whipped cream.

He loves that Bucky is safe and happy and home.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says suddenly, the thought just occurring to him. He’s told Bucky he missed him, he loved him, he’s glad he’s safe, but he’s never said how bone-deep his delight goes at having Bucky back at his side. “I’m just really glad to have you back.” 

“I’m not all back, punk. Got plenty of kinks to work out still.”

“Sure you do. But even if you never do, I’m glad you’re here and not anywhere else. I’ll take whatever version of you I get because you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, still are. I want to be that for you.”

Bucky levels him with a long, hard stare for several minutes. Eventually, he huffs and pulls Steve under his arm like he used to back before the war.

“Don’t doubt that for a damn second, you big lug.”

: : :

_November 24 th, 1943 – Somewhere in Europe_

It’d been three days before they managed to carve out an hour alone together after making their way back to camp from Hydra’s decimated base. Three days of excruciating silence, three days of tightly entwined fingers under the table at dinner, three days of staring at the roof of a tent shared with five other men. On the third day, Steve organized with Peggy Carter, god bless her beautiful soul, and managed to steal Bucky away into the woods for a full sixty minutes. 

Twenty-five of which were spent clutching at each other fiercely as they sobbed for what they thought they’d lost and what they’d barely managed to save. Bucky’s fingers were tight in the back of Steve’s uniform and his face was turned into Steve’s neck. They both shook like leaves and stole kisses during lulls in the tears.

It felt liberating to let it out, just the two of them.

“Thought you were dead,” Steve whispered against Bucky’s hair. The fists tightened in his jacket. “They said the 107th had been mostly taken hostage and I could barely stay standing. Thought there was no way…no way…”

“Spent four days on that table, Stevie. All I could think about was you getting’ a letter. Couldn’t let it happened, not like that. Not without seeing you again.”

Steve pressed kiss swollen lips to Bucky’s and held his head as they both cried. It had been too close, too long, and too painful for either of them to do much else.

“Don’t ever leave me again. Please.”

“Never. You and me, Stevie. To the end of the line.”

As it happens, the end of the line is hundreds of miles away in the Alps and Bucky falls with one last shout of Steve’s name. It takes far too little time to reach it.

: : :

_July 4 th, 2016 – Avengers Tower_

Bucky leaves him for a few minutes to procure more whiskey they can’t get drunk on and large deck chair they don’t really fit into. It’s okay because the taste reminds Steve of stolen sips of Mr. Barnes’ booze with Bucky when they were thirteen years old and nothing bad had ever really happened to them and the tight fit of them both in the chair is reminiscent of their nights spent huddled together on one twin bed, fighting off the winter chill they couldn’t afford to stamp out of the apartment.

It’s the best he’s felt in years, crammed into that chair.

“You’re awfully sentimental tonight, punk,” Bucky comments mildly – and Steve thinks that ‘mildly’ being applied to Bucky in any way these days is just the bee’s damn knees. “Whiskey makin’ you weepy?”

“Sure,” Steve allows. “The whiskey that has no effect on us is making me emotional. ‘S got nothing to do with having you here for my birthday for the first time since 1945.”

“Damn, you’re old, Rogers.”

“Says the man born a full seven months before me.”

“Yeah, well, at least I’m old _and_ wise,” Bucky grins. “You’re just plain old.”

“Buck,” Steve groans, having suffered through two and a half decades of this already. “I swear, you make another old joke and I’m stretching Nat’s suit out and telling her you tried it on. And I’m letting her imagine _why_ you might want to do that.”

“Steve, you sneaky son of a bitch.”

“Hmmm.”

“Hey, remember last year? I told you I’d never miss a birthday after your seventeenth, didn’t I?” Bucky laughs suddenly. “Don’t think either of us knew quite how dedicated I was.”

Steve lets his head _thunk_ back onto the back of the chair and sighs at the sky. No, Steve did not realize just how persistent Bucky would be in his endeavour to never let Steve have a lonely birthday again. He also didn’t think Bucky really knew it was his birthday and it was a hell of a surprise party, but he lets it slide.

Bucky enjoys the coincidence.

: : :

_July 4 th, 2015 – A Bridge in Washington, DC_

It’d been twenty minutes since he first took a swing at the man with the metal arm and he still hadn’t landed an effective punch.  It was frustration as all hell because the only person he’d ever had trouble plowing down was Bucky and he had no time to spare for the man he’d loved and lost, not matter how much he missed him. Now, it was time to save the lives of thousands and eliminate the threat.

In a last ditch attempt at getting this guy on the ground and in cuffs, he grabbed the man’s masked face and flung him down.

The mask lay at his feet. The man rolled and stood up ten feet away. He turned.

Steve’s heart stopped.

“Bucky?”

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

Sam knocked him down. Natasha blew up a car. Bucky disappeared.

Steve fell to his knees.

: : : 

_July 4 th, 2016 – Avengers Tower_

In truth, Steve didn’t like to think of his twenty-fifty – or ninety-fifth, depending if you asked Steve or if you asked Tony – birthday much. He spent it cursing himself for believing the love of his life to be dead, though he’d never found a body. He spent it trying to put the man he loved in a cell. He spent it hearing the words ‘Who the hell is Bucky?’ over and over and over again.

But Bucky loves the story. So Steve listens to it.

It’s not a bad story, over all. Bucky puts a cute spin on it with the birthday reunion thing. They both like to pretend it was a happy coincidence instead of a horrible tragedy. It works.

The thing Steve does like about it? It was the last birthday he’ll ever spend without Bucky by his side. That’s a good thing.

He looks out over the city abruptly as a loud _crack_ fills his ears. The sky is painted red and gold as the first of the fireworks start over the water. Bucky’s fingers thread with his and he squeezes back.

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“Love you.”

Steve smiles widely. Yeah, he thinks. Money sure does buy comfort and security.

But it could never buy this.

“Love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Also, 'cash or cheque' was basically a way of saying "You want that kiss now or later, doll?" that was popular in the '30s and '40s.


End file.
